Warning: I've been informed it's mild, but beware of squicky gore of the bovine variety. \\
Maka came home late one evening, toting a bag of miscellaneous goods Patti had requested. She walked over to the stables, having seen a light still on, and looked for the younger blonde.
"You stroppy brat, jus' hold still for ten minutes," was what she heard before she turned the corner.
Peeking around the large barn door, she saw the farrier forge was lit before a cloud of steam laced with the smell of burning hair suddenly wafted into her face. When it cleared, her attention was drawn to the top of a hat. "Squirrel brain," Soul Evans growled, horseshoe nails held to one side of his mouth, between his teeth. He was bent over in the middle of the stables, wearing Patti's farrier apron (decked in pink and brown giraffe print), one of Harley's rear hooves pulled back and resting between his thighs. He pulled a hot horseshoe away and examined the burned impression before releasing her leg. The mare's tail swatted at his head, smacking his hat.
"No, you can't go yet," he garbled around the nails, groaning as he straightened.
Maka watched the ranch hand immerse the hot shoe in a nearby bucket of water a few times, steam clouding up again. She figured now was a good time as any to speak up.
"Where'd Pat run off to?"
Soul froze in place for a good two seconds before his hat swiveled in her direction, his eyes once again in shadow. Maka made an impatient motion with her hand at her forehead, lifting an imaginary cowboy hat. With an irritated frown, he flicked the brim with a finger at her behest. "Mitch sent her home. Runnin' a fever," he said, turning his attention back to the horseshoe and carefully checking its temperature with his fingertips.
"Oh." Maka looked down at the contents of her paper sack of goods. "Hope she'll be alright."
Walking back to Harley with the cooled horseshoe, Soul ran a hand down the horse's leg and eased her foot back, straddling it once more. The mare smacked him with her tail again, which he ignored, grabbing a nail from his mouth and hammering it through the shoe and into the hoof. "Liz and Wes're over there. Won't be alone." He twisted off the exposed end of the nail with the back of the hammer.
She was still unused to associating Soul's brother to both Liz's boyfriend and to the person she had met last week at supper. Her head tilted to one side, watching Soul efficiently drive more nails into the shoe. He wasn't as quick as Patti, but there was an admirable, second-nature in his process. Having no business with him, there was no reason to stay, yet her curiosity was transfixed, audience to his work. She tried to look less interested, walking over to Skully's stall and scratching the side of his face.
After adjusting the shoe's fit with tools she didn't know the names of, Soul released Harley's foot and untied her lead. "Alright, fine, git out," he said, and the horse turned around and knocked off his hat with her nose before eagerly going into her stall and rubbing her face on a post. "Weirdo," Soul accused, gathering Patti's farrier gear. Without turning to face Maka, he asked, gesturing a hand towards her bag, "What's all that about?"
Her arm tightened around it, the contents shifting. "Pat asked me to pick up a few things while I was in town." Soul warmed his hands by the portable forge. "Do you... need help cleaning up? It's near supper time, I bet."
"Uh." He turned to look at her and, after a second, tilted his head up so his eyes were exposed. "Naw, don't worry 'bout it. I'll be in in a bit."
With a stiff nod, Maka gave Skully one last rub and turned to leave. Awkward interactions aside, she hadn't called Soul's horse a cow, and he hadn't called her dog a rat, so that was probably a form of victory. Or making par.
"Um- Albarn."
"...Yes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.
Side-lit by the hot forge, red light tinted his clothes and bounced off his face. "After supper, if you got a minute..."
She pivoted back around on boot heels, leveling him with a dubious squint. "A minute for what?"
Soul shifted, diverting his attention to the farrier forge and turning a valve to cut off the fuel supply. "Have a favor to ask."
She waited. Impatiently, but she tried.
"...It can wait 'til after."
She huffed, her breath coming out in a frozen cloud. "But you can't ask me now."
He looked somewhat embarrassed as he took off Patti's loud apron. "Just don't go straight off to bed, s'all I'm askin'," he bit out. Turning away, he waved her off and said, "Now go on, I gotta clean this disaster."
Traitorously, her eyes are drawn to an old horseshoe hooked in the back pocket of his Wranglers. She nearly dropped the paper bag in her haste to turn away. "Whatever you say Spitfire," she loudly replied, relishing Soul's silence.
She mentally cursed Tsubaki for bringing ranch hand butts to her attention. She had no intention on 'buttering' anyone's 'biscuits'- whatever on earth that meant- but ever since the general manager had started pestering her about it, she was now painfully aware of its existence.
When she walked inside, shucking off her boots and placing them in a boot tray, she heard Japanese being quietly spoken from the living room. Mifune and Tsubaki conversed at the coffee table. Both were perusing financial records scattered across it, and Tsubaki held an opened letter in her hand.
Mifune (or 'Mitch' to just about everyone) often advised Tsubaki when it came to ranch business matters. He spoke and could converse in English easily, but to speak in his native language with the general manager was simpler.
Maka had still been a freshman at the time when Tsubaki, not wanting to leave after having completed high school through an exchange program, had asked Suzanne Albarn to stay and work for the ranch. As a result, Mifune, in his early twenties, had been flown in from Japan with the instruction to bring the Nakatsukasa daughter back home and carry out an arranged marriage.
Tsubaki refused, wanting to choose her own life. Mifune was relieved, having no romantic inclinations towards anyone at all. And, because Mama had never been one to turn a stray away, Suzanne gave them both work when their respective families cut off financial ties.
Now the general manager and the foreman, the two shuffle papers around, comparing numbers in a combination of English and Japanese. Over the years, Maka had picked up on a few foreign words and phrases, but she tried not to make it a habit to eavesdrop. She was, however, quick to notice Mifune's stern posture, and the crinkle of Tsubaki's forehead as she took off her reading glasses.
"How that woman does it, I can not understand," was all Maka caught before she walked into the kitchen.
Before she could dwell on whatever was bothering them, she met Blake at the sink, who washed his hands while whistling. "Heya, shortstack."
"Hi Loud. What's for supper?" Maka asked, smelling something savory and comforting emanating from the oven.
"Only the best thing ever. What's in the bag?"
She'd forgotten she'd been carrying it entirely. "Oh. Pat's stuff. Some saddle oil, curry combs, Oreos, you know."
"Oreos?"
"Actually," she said as she placed the bag on the counter and pulled out a blue package, "these are mine. And you can't have them."
"Says who?"
"Says, oh you cheating sack of-!"
It was when Blake Strickland was dangling the stolen package of Oreos twenty stories too high above her head that Soul entered, holding open the back door for Spirit Albarn to walk in.
Maka's father carried a warped cardboard file box that looked entirely too laden with reading material to be structurally sound for much longer.
"Papa," she greeted, arm still extended in the air, grasping for the package of cookies. She pointedly ignored Soul's quizzical look. "You're home," she said, surprised. Ever since looking into the goings-on at Lazy S, her father had been very much absent most evenings.
"So're you," he replied, setting the heavy box on a counter top while Soul shut the door behind them. He gave a small grin, blue eyes flitting up to the Oreos in Blake's hand. "Them for me?"
Her voice squeaked, emphatically replying, "No!"
"No, they're mine," Blake said causally, wincing when Maka elbowed him in the gut.
From the living room, Tsubaki and Mifune walked in, the former of the two saying, "Oh, you made it just in time for supper, boss."
Spirit took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door. Next to it, he hung his gun holster as he made a show of sniffing the air. "I'd rather get trampled than miss your pot pie, Sue- you know that," he said as he walked up the stairs. Over the handrail, he shot to Blake, "You'd best give my cookies back to my daughter."
"They're not yours," Maka huffed. Then she noticed Soul still standing at the back door, the front of his hat directed at the gun holster hanging on the wall. Maka stifled a snort and walked away from Blake to set the table.
"Aw, it's no fun when you give up."
"I don't give up," she chirped, grabbing a stack of plates. "I get even."
Blake gave her a wary frown that attested to his personal experience. "Eh." He tossed to package to the counter. Mifune sidled up nearby and proceeded to nonchalantly peel open the Oreo package and steal a cookie. Blake looked appalled, head flipping back and forth between the foreman and Maka. "What, so it's okay if he takes one?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks, Maka."
"You're welcome."
"What the hell?"
Supper was a subdued event; most everyone was too busy stuffing their faces with Tsubaki's cooking to carry on a full conversation. Maka, not having realized how ravenous she'd been, finished quickly and before everyone else. As she blinked at her empty plate, Soul's request for a moment with her after eating rang in the back of her head.
Well, he was still eating. Everyone was still eating. She stood to put her plate in the sink, and she saw Soul's brief, discrete glance, which kindled a flame of paranoia in her. What did he want to talk about so badly?
"Finished already, Maka?" Tsubaki asked.
"Ah, yeah. It was really good, thank you. I'm gonna... take a shower." She excused herself, noting the lack of verbal reminder from Evans. What, so he'd shoot her a look across the table, but wouldn't mention anything in front of other people? She liked this less and less.
As Maka climbed up the stairs to her bedroom, she liked the sly look Tsubaki gave her even less.
Actually, she had already taken a shower that morning before she left for the vet. She was wasting water to kill time for reasons she wasn't sure she wanted to understand. After her needless shower and running a comb through her damp hair, she exited the bathroom in sweat pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, towel wrapped around her neck.
Somehow, she wasn't surprised to hear the most agitated 'psst' she'd ever heard in her life while passing the stairway on the way to her bedroom. Maka paused, slowly turning her head to look down the flight. Soul stood at the bottom.
"Can I come up?"
A flabbergasted noise gurgled out of her open mouth. She didn't know how to handle his weird politeness at all. She also felt like she'd somehow been transported back to middle school, when boys found out about cooties. "What am I, Rapunzel?" she muttered, stalking off to her room.
She didn't hear his footsteps creaking up the stairs, so she called out a loud and resigned, "YES." Maka dumped her dirty clothes into her personal hamper before putting her face in her hands, groaning. Everything remotely related to Soul was maddening - it'd been far easier when she could guiltlessly hate him.
"You okay?" he asked, and she let her hands melt off her face as she turned to face him. He leaned on her door frame, refusing to enter this area too.
Maka sighed, sitting on her bed and scrubbing the towel in her hair. "M'fine... what did you need?"
Soul hooked a thumb into his pocket. "Sue tells me you have a laptop?"
She blinked, not expecting all of Soul's embarrassed hedging around his favor to be about something this benign. "Y-yes? Do you need to look up something?"
"Sorta?"
"Our internet is pretty slow, but it'll get the job done. You ca- wait. Sue?" Maka asked, face contorting with instant suspicion. Soul didn't reveal anything though, only tilting an ear closer, expecting a less vague question than just the general manager's name.
"S'that bad?"
She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling Tsubaki was trying to arrange certain biscuits. "Ehhh, nevermind," she mumbled, throwing her towel into the hamper. "Let me put in the password and you can do whatever. What do you need to look up?" Maka asked, unplugging her laptop from its charging cable at her night stand and prying it open. She sat back down on her bed, computer in her lap, and looked at him expectantly.
Soul rolled a shoulder. "Could we... do this somewhere not here?"
Maka frowned. She glanced around her room, which might be slightly cluttered, but was more or less clean and maybe somewhat utilitarian. "What's wrong with here," she challenged in monotone.
"S'not that," he clarified. He carefully looked over his shoulder a moment. "Just like to make it through the day without gettin' shot," he muttered.
Tilting her body to one side to see around the ranch hand, she found her father glowering at Soul's back, paused at the top of the stairs. Maka narrowed her eyes at Spirit, who noticed and casually turned around, making his way to his bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway.
Cooties.
\\
Deciding that the living room would deter an overprotective father-figure from taking the law into his own hands due to potential witnesses hanging around in the kitchen, Maka relocated her laptop. She sprawled on the floor, gently playing with Crona, while Soul sat on the couch, hunched over her little laptop on the coffee table.
She sincerely hoped he was too busy hunting and pecking at the keys to read her search history. A conversation regarding why his name was in the auto-fill of his employer's daughter's computer was something she would like to avoid at all costs. "So," she said, too friendly, "What're you, uh, looking for?" She tried to alleviate her jitters by way of taking an Oreo from the package sitting next to the laptop.
Soul took a deep breath. "...My brother," he admitted. "I missed his last ride at the stock show. Said it was probably online somewhere, so."
She paused, mid-chew. "Oh!" Soul looked up from the screen at her voice. "S'on YouTube, prolly," she garbled with her mouth full. She shuffled around the table on her knees, carrying Crona in an arm. Maka had forgotten about the bull ride Wes had talked about when he was there last - she wanted to see it, too.
Navigating at snail-like speeds to the video site, Soul came to a stall when his brother's name popped up in the search bar as he typed.
"A-ahah, haha," Maka laughed nervously before he could ask. "Liz kept going on and on about him, so I just..."
He said nothing, but the side of his mouth picked up in a lopsided smile. It faded when he was assaulted by all the videos of his brother that existed. She grudgingly offered him an Oreo as they waited for the most recent video to buffer.
Maka knew the basics of bull riding, which mostly consisted of not using one hand and not falling off to be trampled and/or gored to death. Soul, on the other hand, had a lot more knowledge and emotional investment on the subject. His attention was intense, eyes nearly glued to the screen. He grimaced at things Maka could not pick up on.
He leaned back into the couch when Wes was awarded a giant belt buckle for his efforts. "Huh," he said.
"Hm?"
"That was Rag."
Rag? Rag. "Ragnarok? The- that- your bull?"
Soul nodded. "Guess he's back to normal."
He didn't elaborate further, and she wasn't sure if it was her place to ask about something she knew almost nothing about. Before she could dwell on it, Soul was already leaning forward again and searching for something else. He typed in 'Wes Evans Stock Show Calf Roping', and Maka nearly choked.
"What?" she blurted. "He roped in the show?"
"He conveniently left that out, didn't he," Soul quietly said, amused. "Actually, he took my place."
The video buffered. "So, you didn't go." He nodded once. Maka fidgeted on the floor next to his feet. She gave him a pained glance. "I'll fess up. I'd been, ah, curious if you'd compete there or not."
Soul paused in the middle of rubbing his nose. "Naw, I hate the stock show." Seeing her flummoxed expression, he set his hand in his lap and gave a small shrug. "Loud. Crowded. Tourists. Not my kinda thing."
Her attention was drawn away by the discordant cheering from the laptop. In the video, a calf ran out into the arena, closely followed by Wes atop a paint horse. Leaning closer to the table, Maka faintly heard Soul say behind her, "Oh man, what are you doing?"
Wes Evans's roping technique was far from polished. "Who taught him to rope?" she asked.
"Not me," the hand dryly replied, quick to absolve himself of any fault related to the disaster on screen. They both cringed when Wes fumbled with the piggin' string, the calf's legs tangling up his hard work. Soul's voice sounded entertained. "How'd they even let him in there?"
After the sub-par roping, Wes untied the rope from his horse's saddle and rode to the cameraman. He said something with a wry smile, but Maka's speakers were too quiet.
"Wait," Soul murmured, pausing the video. "Go back. What's he say?"
Maka reached across the laptop to turn up the volume when Soul couldn't find the means. She moved the video back a few seconds, and they both leaned in. Over the laughing crowd, Wes said, "That one was for you, Spitfire, I hope yer happy!"
She watched Soul tuck his chin to his chest, leaning back to cover his grinning face with an arm as he quietly cracked up. She found herself smiling with him. "How big is he into revenge?"
The top of his hat moved from side to side. "I'm a dead man," he managed to say between snorts. "Bet that was on TV, too."
"Even Black Star's better than that," Maka said with a laugh.
Soul attempted to compose himself, shutting the laptop and standing. "Don't tell him that to his face, you'll break his heart," he said with a smile he didn't bother hiding. "I better git. Ah," he sobered, his lips forming into an awkward not-quite-frown. "Thanks, 'preciate it."
"Sure," she said, letting her eyes fall to the chihuahua in her lap. "Anytime."
"G'night."
"Night, Soul."
She didn't look up to see if he made any kind of acknowledgement to the use of his name. But she did hear him chuckle on the way out the back door.
Very briefly she wondered if that was how he acted when he was with people that didn't judge him before meeting him.
\\
Almost bored to tears, Maka was finally excused from her veterinary duties by Miranda. She'd had plenty of practice vaccinating animals and bottle-feeding newborn critters, and seeing as it was the last day of her weekly shift, her mentor had practically shoved her out of the building.
She hurried home, windshield wipers furiously working to keep up with the heavy spring rainfall hammering the truck. It'd been nearly three days since Maka had noticed one of the first-calf heifers starting to separate from the herd, giving signs that she was about to go into labor.
She came home to twins.
"Argh! I missed it!" Maka exclaimed as she walked into the barn, where Mifune and Blake were trying to bottle-feed the two newborns without getting rained on.
Blake scoffed, tilting his head in an attempt to get his calf to do the same and facilitate nursing more easily. "I dunno why you're so upset, you seen it a million times already."
She ignored this. "The mother?"
"Wouldn't take to either of them," Mifune said. "We'll wait a bit."
Blake stood up and handed his half-empty feeding jug to Maka. "Since you're here. I gotta get back out. Soul's pullin' another one."
She fumbled with the jug in her hands, watching him exit the barn and rain shoot off the brim of his hat. "A-another one?" she asked, but Blake just waved and jogged away. She plopped down in some hay next to Mifune, trying to convince the second calf to drink. Not only was she back to feeding newborns, she noted with displeasure, but she was again reminded that her absence on the ranch kept her out of the loop she used to dominate.
"He noticed this morning. One of the cows. You couldn't've known, you were already gone."
"Mm," she grunted, petulant. The little calf clumsily suckled on the large nipple of the jug. She knew Mifune was trying to make her feel better, but it only made her more frustrated, like she was losing some vital part of her identity.
Over the next several weeks, the majority of Angel's End's gestating stock had calved, mostly without major incident. Maka was caught between home and school, the only constant between both schedules being some variety of meal. She was either nursing baby calves, trying to stay awake at the supper table, or meeting the sheriff for lunch in town.
And she was beginning to worry about her father. The past few days she'd noticed the slight furrow between his brows, and the frequency in which he would zone out of a conversation, deep in thought. Maka had a feeling it had something to do with that cardboard file box, which she rarely saw him without. If the box wasn't in his hands as he walked in the door at home, it was sitting in his patrol car.
On a particular Wednesday at the diner, he'd received a phone call. Spirit Albarn excused himself from the table, stepping outside to talk on his scratched, outdated flip-phone. Maka watched with veiled interest when he re-entered and called Elizabeth Thompson over. The young woman's face drained of color as he exchanged words with her. He gave her a supportive pat on the shoulder, and she tersely nodded her head. Liz then turned to face the front window as Spirit walked back to the table.
"Sorry, sweets," he said. "I need t'go." He unfolded a few bills and tossed them on the table, ignoring Maka's complaints of being able to pay her own meal. After much apology and a hug, she dully waved goodbye, more than just a little confused and worried. She was already done with her food, but she hung around, filling out the paperwork Nygus had given her this week while keeping one eye on Liz's stiff behavior.
Fifteen minutes later, Liz took her break. The older woman sat across from Maka in the booth and waited for her to look up. Then, voice dark, she said, "Momma's out on parole."
A pregnant silence sat heavily between them. Not knowing what to say, Maka nudged her ice water over to Liz, who took an unfeeling sip. "...Where is she gonna stay?"
"Where else?" the woman sourly said.
"Is that- Do you think she's gonna...?"
Liz shook her head. "If she contests it, there ain't no way. I'd hafta get a lawyer, Maka. I can't afford that!"
Maka drummed her fingers on the table. "Surely there's some way. There's gotta be somebody."
Dabbing carefully under her mascara-coated eyes with a paper napkin, Liz scowled. "Pat's gonna be hell," she said, voice thick.
\\
And she hadn't been wrong. The normally outspoken and free-spirited Patti had gone cold as stone. When Maka arrived home later that evening, Tsubaki gave a recount of the events that had transpired in her absence over rhubarb pie.
"Kyle's the one that dropped her off in the police car. She was supposed to go to the girls' place, but the locks were changed and her key didn't work," Tsubaki smiled, chewing and swallowing. "She came here for Pat, instead." Deep in thought, she cut off another bit from her slice of pie with the side of her fork. "It's been a long time since I've seen her go quiet like that. No 'hi' or smile or anything. Just gone. She put her things up and drove her momma home."
"Liz is worried Tina's not going to give up custody rights," said Maka.
"By the way she was acting, I wouldn't be surprised. She was trying really hard to get into good favor with Pat. With all of us."
"Of course she was," Blake said, walking into the kitchen. "If Pat has a good payin' job, all she gotta do is sit back and reap the benefits." He peeled off his work gloves and tucked them into the side of his belt.
"Black Star," Tsubaki tiredly pleaded, as if she had heard this particular tirade already today.
"Tell me it ain't exactly what she did with Liz the last time."
Maka blankly regarded her little saucer of pie. The Thompson sisters were exactly that - she considered them her own siblings. All of Angel's End thought of them as family, ever since Mama took them in when Cristina Thompson served jail time for possession and multiple DUI's. Patti had only been five at the time, following Maka around the ranch, finding another sister to cling to.
Liz, being nearly eleven years Patti's senior, looked up to Suzanne Albarn, and worked hard at her various part-time jobs under her guidance. While their biological mother was absent, Liz cared for her sister with very little financial help at all.
After Cristina Thompson served her time, she came back into their lives, repentant and eager to make amends. It had only lasted so long before she took over her elder daughter's income to return to her bad habits, landing herself in prison for a longer sentence. Since then, the woman had popped in and out, going from prison to rehab and back again. As a result, Patti grew up with very little interaction with the woman and, now that she was making a small income of her own and was still a minor, Maka couldn't feel optimistic about the situation.
"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked no one in particular.
In reply, the back door wrenched open, revealing a harried Soul Evans. "Is Maka-" he started to say, her heart stumbling at the use of her name. "You're here," he blinked. "Mitch wants you."
Confused but already up on her feet, she asked, "What's happened?"
"Prolapse."
\\
Maka held her head to the side a moment, trying to breathe evenly and keep the world from spinning the wrong way. Soul held the spotlight steady while she and Mifune did their best to slowly, carefully put the cow's insides back inside. Uterine Prolapse was the given term for female reproductive organs essentially turning inside out; the cow had recently given a successful birth, but sometimes, on rare occasions, things like this happened. The best anyone could do on short notice was to ease the uterus back into the animal, stitch it up, and hope for the best. Waiting for a vet to drive out as far as their ranch would only prolong the animal's suffering, so Angel's End was usually tasked with dealing with this personally.
It took a fair amount of strength to put everything right, fighting the pained animal's muscles and the slick mud that spring rains had gifted them. Mifune had already administered painkillers to the critter, but Maka couldn't imagine the whole ordeal feeling very pleasant.
The both of them were up to their gloved elbows in blood, but after half an hour, the cow's innards were at least no longer outwards. Mifune gave a high dose of antibiotics while Maka sewed up the business end of the cow. Her face was schooled into stone by the time she finished, and she exchanged nods with Mifune, turned around, and numbly walked away.
She didn't stop walking until she arrived at the nearest water spigot to the pasture, which was attached to the side of the guest house. She systematically peeled off her long gloves, pooled water into her hands, and splashed her face. She took water into her mouth and spit it back out. She splashed her face once more, turned the water off, and heavily sat on the porch.
Maka stared into the night, watching Soul's spotlight move around in the dark until her heart approached something like calm.
The night sky was clear of rain clouds for the first time in awhile. The steady presence of the multitude of stars held her in place, easing the churning in her stomach. Cool air filled her lungs and, after awhile, Soul Evans found her on his porch.
"Hey."
"Hi. Sorry I ran off."
"No," he said, voice sincere. "You did your share. I was jus' standin' there like a... clueless lamppost."
"You helped," she said to the sky. Frogs chirped their gentle song in the distance, and she heard Soul sit down a few paces away, stretching out his legs.
In the silence, she heard his unasked question. "Mama usually handled stuff like that. Then Papa. Now me."
"You done that before?"
She shook her head, but she wasn't sure he saw it, so she said, "No. I'd only ever watched."
He said nothing on this directly, but instead offered, "She's already up and around. Sure she'll be fine in a few days."
Maka took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The stars didn't move.
"I dunno if it means much coming from me... but you did good."
Maka shut her eyes, Polaris burned into her vision: steadfast, supportive. "Thank you," she said, and stood up.
\\
Some combination of muscle memory and the aftertaste of stress made her dream of inverted organs, and she woke too early in the morning. She ate a slice of pie and went back to bed, thoughts lingering on the cow, the twin calves nursing on surrogate mothers when their own had refused them, and the Thompson sisters.
She thought of her father, his comforting hand on Liz's shoulder, his partiality to Oreos.
She dreamed of the tree Mama was buried under, her headstone unmoving like the stars.